Reputation
by bruingirl25
Summary: Lothiriel, biddable and genteel, is easily flustered at the gossip regarding Rohan's King. Ladies' man, charmer … Lothiriel will not touch him with a ten foot pole, so what is her father thinking, considering him as a potential suitor?


Reputation

By Lilithe

Summary: Lothiriel, biddable and genteel, is easily flustered at the gossip regarding Rohan's King. Ladies' man, charmer … Lothiriel will not touch him with a ten foot tall, so what is her father thinking, considering him as a potential suitor?

The gossip began innocently enough with the discussion of the arrival of the Rohirrim to Minas Tirith and soured from there. Lothiriel had wandered in to Queen Arwen's spacious solar with high hopes of spending a quiet afternoon sewing in the beautiful elf's pleasant company. The queen, however, was heavily with child and had sequestered herself in the royal rooms for a well-deserved nap. There was to be a week of festivities to celebrate the one year anniversary of Sauron's downfall and she would be required to play hostess. Arwen rather thought she deserved to rest. The Princess of Dol Amroth had decided it was not beneath her dignity to accept the Senior Handmaiden's invitation to join them in their work instead. So there she sat, fingers deftly flying over the satin of Amrothos' new shirt, when hisname was first mentioned by the noble ladies of Minas Tirith.

"Eomer of Rohan is a handsome man, is he not? I feel drawn to him like a bee to sweet honey." Lothiriel noted the young woman voicing this remark was uncommonly handsome herself. Long dark hair flowed in ringlets down her back and two raven curls framed a heart shaped face with wide, sparkling green eyes and a pouty rosebud for a mouth. "Pity that he is no longer a mere Marshall of the Mark."

"You have not spoken amiss, Ivorwen." The answering reply came from Lady Dagna, Arwen's pragmatic senior handmaiden. "The Lord Eomer is certainly no longer a mere Marshall. Indeed, his lordship should now be properly addressed as His Majesty, Eomer, King. I should also hasten to add that his physical appearance is of no consequence to our conversation."

Lothiriel could feel Lady Ivorwen bristle from her place three seats down the circle of sewing women. Lady Belen, daughter of one of her father's coastal lords, spoke up rather defensively. "There is no harm in admiring a man, especially a King. A lord of his status surely expects the attention. I, for one, find him entirely fascinating."

A crisp laugh cut short the enthusiastic replies of several ladies. "Poor little honeybees! Has he spared any glances to even one of you?" Lady Celedias was known for her spiteful nature and the women shifted uncomfortably.

Lothiriel busied herself matching the blood red of the rose she had dutifully stitched to the collar of Amrothos' shirt to a complimentary green for foliage. "The light here is so helpful to our task." She whispered tentatively after a long, uncomfortable pause and was unanimously ignored for her efforts.

Lady Ivorwen resumed the conversation with indignation underlying her every word. "He didn't get a chance! How could he? The last time he was here was under such dire circumstances!"

"Then… is it not better he has come back as King?" Lothiriel's eyebrows rose slightly at the predatory look around Lady Belen's eyes as she spoke.

Lady Ivorwen coughed. "Kings must marry well, Lady Belen." Her eyes unfocused, staring through the sampler in her hands. "Marshalls do not have this problem. I've heard stories … the widowed ladies of Minas Tirith enjoyed quite a pleasant time during the celebrations after the death of Sauron."

"Oh! I've heard those too!" The choruses of affirmations made Lothiriel stare wide-eyed around the room.

Lady Celedias's mouth quirked, a slow blush tinting her cheek bones and crawling down her softly heaving bosom. "He oozes a sweet type of aphrodisiac instead of honey, my lovelies. My word on this." Lothiriel gawped at the woman, whose husband had died three years before the ride of the Rohirrim to the White City.

Lady Dagna seemed to recall her station. "Enough! I will not hear another word!"

Ivorwen and Belen shared a hungry look, but both women lowered their heads and continued their work quietly. Lothiriel sighed softly. If she were not such a timid little slip, such a little shadow of a woman, it would have been her duty to stop the gossips. She was, after all, the highest ranking woman in the room – the daughter of a long line of self-confident Princes! Certainly Queen Arwen would have quelled the topic with a single well-placed arched eyebrow. The Princess stroked the tiny rosebud she had just stitched; she was a rose without any thorns – entirely ornamental.

…..

Shock! Complete and utter numbness percolated her entire body. She tried to swallow; found that she could not. Amrothos worriedly stuck a finger under her nose. "Lori! Breathe! Father, she's not inhaling!"

Imrahil closed his eyes and counted backward from ten, fully confident his daughter would remember how to take in air on her own. She had always been such a sensible, malleable child. He was not, however, as confident about Amrothos ever truly maturing. "Children."

Lothiriel coughed and took in a much needed gulp of air. She waved off Amrothos's waggling finger and turned dilated eyes toward her father. "Father, what were you thinking of? Why would you do such a thing? Did you not promise me that you would search for a suitable coastal lord for me when the time came? Someone close to our family holdings?"

"My dear, things have changed so much since the end of the War. You cannot possibly understand, my little one, but there is still much devastation and need for strong leadership. Eomer confided in me last year that he had a problem. A problem he has had no time to solve given the pressing needs of his People, but a problem he must never-the-less address. He needs a wife and does not have time to look for one. "He smiled tightly. "I have a daughter of noble blood and she has a large dowry that would surely help his people. Lori, all he wants to do is meet you. If you both get along, then things will work out for themselves. You know very well, my child, that your mother and I came to love each other long after we were married. That, however, did not lessen our bond and her place in my heart will forever remain unoccupied by another."

"Rohan's king is a very handsome man." Amrothos decided to pipe in helpfully. "All the ladies seem to think so, anyway. One cannot get them to talk about anything else." He continued rather resentfully.

Lothiriel turned unnaturally fevered eyes to her brother. Imrahil frowned at the foreign, belligerent look of her face. His eyebrows climbed high on his forehead at the words she proceeded to snarl. "The young ladies of the court, Amrothos… _or the widows_?"

"The widows?" Imrahil looked bewilderedly from his trembling daughter to the flaming face of his youngest son. "Would one of you care to explain what that is supposed to mean?"

Amrothos opened his mouth, but his courage faltered. "I am sure, I do not know, Father. Lothiriel?"

"The problem is," She whispered trying to control her indignation, "that the King of Rohan seems to have quite the _reputation_ with _certain_ ladies. _Previously married_ ladies who are the _envy_ of every _virtuous _noblewoman in Minas Tirith!"

Imrahil blinked. His brain refused to process the words coming out of his daughter's mouth. Finally, one question succeeded in parting the fog of muddled, half formed thoughts, _Did not Ivriniel explain?_ The next thought was a little more frantic; _We endured my sister for half a year and for nothing_?! She had been responsible of talking to Lothiriel about what to expect of her adult life when she reached womanhood!

Amrothos coughed; discomfited by their father's unusual flustered expression and lack of a suitably placating come back. "Lori,that is none of your concern. The King –"

"– wants to escort me to the Ball tomorrow night and has received Father's blessing! I will be the laughing stock of Minas Tirith! Father!" She exclaimed accusingly, "he is not the gentle, scholarly coastal lord you promised me!"

Reason returned, Imrahil crossed his arms. "Daughter, I refuse to have this conversation. It is of an inappropriate nature for a father to discuss with his only daughter." He pursed his lips in displeasure. "This is not the time, nor the place for me to address your concerns. You will accompany Eomer to the ball tomorrow. You will _not_ embarrass the House of Dol Amroth." He paused and his eyes softened. "I am truly sorry, your mother was not here for you Lori. Ilveth would have known how to speak of you of these things."

"Father –"

He shook his head firmly. "Your Aunt arrived yesterday to attend the festivities. She is a guest of the Queen at the palace. I will call upon Ivriniel later today and ask her to meet with you sometime this week. She will answer your questions and restore your peace. There are protocols for these things, Lori, and as a Princess of noble blood it is your responsibility to uphold them. Do I make myself clear?"

Years of deportment lessons finally kicked in. "Yes, Father."

"Amrothos!" His tone turned brittle and he watched stonily as the youngest Prince of Dol Amroth jumped awkwardly, almost dropping the goblet he had picked up from a side table. "You will come with me, to my study. Now."

The relieved look Amrothos shot his father was almost comical. The Prince did not seem inclined to remain alone in the company of his little sister. Without another word, both men walked out of the room leaving Lothiriel to her thoughts.

It would have been so much better if Imrahil had known how to talk to his daughter. Lothiriel had led a sheltered life; she was unprepared for the spotlight. In her mind, to be seen with a man reputed to be every woman's fantasy was paramount to being the title character in a court play. Every eye would be strained upon her. Her insides roiled. What could she expect from this man? What exactly did his reputation and desirability _entitle_? Surely, she had to be aware of such things before even attempting to reconcile herself to accepting him as a potential suitor. Moreover, she needed to know what tricks he employed to capture the regard of women – she would not want to find herself half seduced to love him before she could even think of opposing him in any way!

Lothiriel needed advice. She needed to consult someone _now_ rather than later. She was sure Aunt Ivriniel would leave out all the interesting bits. It was now apparent her Aunt had shied her duty before! Lothiriel was no longer under any illusion; she was distressingly naïve about the actions between men and women. Who should she approach about this? The choice was obvious. Not only was this woman an _old acquaintance_ of Amrothos, most likely the very reason he was so peeved about Eomer's looks, but she had also had previous experience with Rohan's King. She'd said so herself.

Naturally, Lady Celedias was the obvious choice.

TBC

Author's Note: First of all, I'm so sorry! I know it is _not_ encouraging when an author starts one project and then appears with a second story before completing the first. However, this story is insisting it be written first! So please forgive me, I will resume Tempered with a Grain of Salt once I complete this story. Please review. (: I find reviews very motivating and since I'm just doing this for fun (as a means to relax), they keep me happy, productive, and writing! Best to all, Lilithe.


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